Dreams
by vodka on fire
Summary: Life is dirty, death is clean.


Let me know if you like it... all feedback welcome, tell me if you hate it but please if you could let me know why thnx!

Dreams

The day starts out as many other days in Sherry's life, there is no indication in the light that filtered through her drapes that anything extraordinary will occur. And yet her life will be forever changed by the day's events. Our heroine however, not having the benefit of our knowledge, feels no apprehension as she gets out of bed and heads for the shower

It is around this time that, three floors below our heroine's bedroom, a knock is heard. A thin man stands in the door frame; he surveys the room as if searching for something. His dark suit and rigid stance show he has a military background; his large black suitcase sucks in the light from the room; he is a shadow. Apparently finding nothing to his displeasure, he entered the chamber and allowed his hostess to take his travel cloak. Setting up his equipment a sly grin breaks his lips.

Neither of them says a word but they move in perfect unison. His hostess brings out a large tripod that she positions in the center of the room. He places his suitcase carefully on the couch and opens the latches. He is highly efficient and even though he greatly admires the piece of technology he is operating, not a trace of it shows in his mannerisms.

He mounts the barrel and his weapon is complete, the ultimate sniper. No surface is bar to it. It shots a small nano bullet that is coded to explode only when it detects a predefined DNA code. In this case it is locked on the DNA of our darling heroine. Sherry doesn't feel the bullet enter her, all she fells is a small heat inside her stomach, and she knows she is dying. She doesn't know that the bullet's explosion has torn a hole through her stomach tissue, or that she is bleeding internally, but she knows she will die.

_No I can't die… I won't… I refuse to die!!!!_

This last, she thinks with such conviction that she can feel the pain retreat from her body as if it never existed.

Three floors bellow the man turns and bows to his hostess, he does not speak for hear of being watched, but he gathers up his equipment and leaves without so much as a backwards glance, the bullet has done its job, of that he is sure.

Standing up on her bed Sherry thinks how strange that pain had been, it had come very suddenly and she feared she would die, but it had left just as suddenly, she looks around and everything seems to be in order. No… something is wrong. She looks around the room trying to see what is different. The towel is still in the messy heap she left it in, her sheets are still warm, the light still streams into the condo; everything is bright. _So bright…_

The sun continues its rise on the sky. It is hot, too hot. Her large windows act as greenhouse panels trapping the heat within the room. She needs air. She goes out onto the balcony. It is just as bright; the brightness gives everything an unreal quality to it. Everything is immaculate, as if no dirt exists in this world. She remembers the gentle caress of a summer breeze, but there is no wind. Nothing seems to move; to live; except for her. She is not expecting to see a lot of traffic, considering the time, but the streets are deserted; there is not a car or pedestrian in sight.

Sherry can't stand the light; the perfection; her eyes hurt. She goes inside and has a sip of her namesake, hoping it'll keep her sane, she quickly realise she'll need a lot more than a sip. Her glass full she goes to her computer and checks the files, it's all there. She takes her disk and sets off; the world will know the truth. With her Key in hand she goes to the elevator, there is no one there, the whole place seems deserted. _It's probably the because of the time…_ she tells herself, though she knows enough time has passed that these elevators should be full.

As she reaches the lobby she knows something is wrong, there is no bellboy hoping for a tip, there is no receptionist explaining the need for reservations, this is one of the classiest hotels in the city and yet there seem to be no doormen at the doors. _I shouldn't have had that Sherry… _she thinks, though knowing full well one glass can't have gotten her drunk.

She steps towards the door; towards the blinding light. She comes closer. The light calls to her. A shock runs through her body. She blinks. The darkness is soothing, she embraces it. Another shock. The darkness envelops her.

"_Can you hear me? Try blinking if u can hear me." _The voice sounds worried, Sherry wants to blink; she can't. _"I think she's dead Jerry." _This voice is different, it is cold, fatalistic. _I am not dead!!! _Sherry wants to scream, but there is no air in her lungs.

Here I was torn between my optimistic and my aesthetic side...

I felt this was more appropriate for this story:

_Breathe! Breathe! _She tells herself, but her body has forgotten how. Air enters her lungs. It burns. She wants to feel the pain, it's dark, it gives contrast, it lets her see through the bright haze. She is on her bed, there is a medic holding a defibrillator above her. _A person…_ she is so relieved she wants to cry, no tears come. _A person… _she is not alone. The brightness streaming through the window is blinding, she can't stand to look at it, slowly it swallows her would be saviour, she can't see him anymore, but he's there... she knows he is. The world is white now. There is no light, no darkness, no good and no evil. Her job is done; her weight is lifted. She rests.

But I really liked Sheryl while I was writing this... so if you want a happier ending, the optimistic wanted this ending...

_Breathe! Breathe! _She tells herself, but her body has forgotten how. Air enters her lungs. It burns. Her eyes fly open in pain. She embraces the pain, it is real. She is on her bed, there is a medic holding a defibrillator above her. _A person…_ she is so relieved she wants to cry. The room is normal, the brightness is gone. _A person… _she is not alone. The world is not deserted.

"I'm Jerry Rayler, a medic, your next door neighbour heard screams and called the police… you've been clinically dead for about two minutes…" The medic keeps talking; she is too tired to realize what is being said. _A person…_ she's safe, she's back, she's home. She stares at the medic. She wants to sleep, but how can she, what if she wakes up in the wrong world again. The medic gives her a shot of morphine. She starts loosing consciousness, this time she can't fight it; sleep claims her. _I've been to hell and back…_ She sleeps.


End file.
